"And is he gone?"—on sudden solitude

How oft that fearful question will intrude!

"'Twas but an instant past, and here he stood!

And now"—without the portal's porch she rushed,

And then at length her tears in freedom gushed;

Big, bright, and fast, unknown to her they fell;

But still her lips refused to send—"Farewell!"

For in that word—that fatal word—howe'er

We promise—hope—believe—there breathes Despair. 490

O'er every feature of that still, pale face,

Had Sorrow fixed what Time can ne'er erase:

The tender blue of that large loving eye

Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy,

Till—Oh, how far!—it caught a glimpse of him,

And then it flowed, and phrensied seemed to swim

Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dewed

With drops of sadness oft to be renewed.

"He's gone!"—against her heart that hand is driven,

Convulsed and quick—then gently raised to Heaven: 500

She looked and saw the heaving of the main:

The white sail set—she dared not look again;

But turned with sickening soul within the gate—

"It is no dream—and I am desolate!"